Scar
by Socrates7727
Summary: A lot of the team had seen Natasha at least partially naked at some point in time for various reasons. Most were pretty sure she and Clint were sleeping together. Others had their bets on Steve. But Bucky was the one who snuck into her bed each night and always found himself tangled around her every morning... WinterWidow fluff! Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters! Oneshot fluff Winterwidow

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Most of the team had seen Natasha at least partially naked at some point in time for various reasons. Most were pretty sure she and Clint were sleeping together. Others had their bets on Steve. But Bucky was the one who snuck into her bed each night and always found himself tangled around her every morning. They rarely did more than kiss both because of the crowded tower and their complicated emotional histories but.. it was more than enough. He didn't pretend to understand why she chose him and he wrote it off as just the strength of familiarity and their history together. A part of him wondered if it was the scar.

Natasha slept with people for jobs and it wasn't uncommon. But, Bucky had found, she was shockingly good at keeping people's attention on her body anywhere except her lower back. Because there, slightly off center from her spine, was the scar. As far as he could tell none of the others had ever seen it and she didn't act like they knew-even Clint-but he was certain that even if they did they didnt know the story behind it. It was bright and red and raised like a permanent welt but that wasn't what usually drew attention to it. It was in the shape of a hand.

People had asked her in the beginning how hard she'd been hit to make a mark like that but she never answered as far as he could tell. Coulson,she'd said, knew about the scar from her physical but didn't know the story and didn't ask. And she was more than touchy about it. The first few days he'd watched her in the tower and he couldn't believe how smooth she was about it even for a spy. The way she danced out of reach and darted around hands always making sure that any touch to her body wasn't _there_.. it was impressive.

But it took approximately one week for that to change. He'd appeared in her room around two in the morning with no explanation or even a hello and she'd immediately somehow known. Shed taken his hand, ignoring how it shook in hers, and placed it against the side of her neck so he could feel her pulse. It helped, but he was still tense. So she guided him easily over to the bed like they were moving on air and eased him down with her and, never breaking eye contact, she turned onto her stomach and lifted the hem of her shirt. An invitation. He hesitated because he couldn't remember how close they were or how they'd left it but he couldn't resist and she was practically telling him to so he did it. He reached out and pressed his hand against the scar.

A perfect match.

She shuddered but kept her hand on his human one, holding it against her pulse point, and closed her eyes as the metal shifted slightly on the scar tissue, aligning into place on the small of her back. When it fit, he finally felt like he could breathe. And she smiled at him, truly smiled, and kissed his palm and pulled him into her, never letting his hand stray from the scar. Even now, it was bittersweet. He was thrown back to the memory.

His metal hand, held in a furnace until it practically glowed. He couldn't feel it, then, with the earlier models so he didn't flinch. But he felt more than heard Natasha scream as they shoved his hand against her skin and it seared into her. She thrashed on the floor and he struggled against the restraints but they were both tied like their entire bodies were muzzled. Like animals. And when they finally pulled his hand away she was barely breathing and blood was pouring from the wound and he saw bits of burnt flesh on his metal hand and he wanted to throw up but they'd punish him for it and he just needed to get away from her screaming. But then it was suddenly silent. They'd shoved a piece of cloth into her mouth.

"See what happens when you let a man get too close, Natalya? When you let yourself care? He becomes more than just a weakness. He leaves a mark on you, permanently, and it will never stop hurting completely because that's what weakness is. A constant, belittling reminder. And his mark will never leave your skin because you were weak. This pain is because you were weak." He heard them throw her to the cement and leave but from where he was bound back in his chair he met those gorgeous blue eyes, clouded with tears, and all he could think was: _weak_?

She was the strongest person he'd ever met and even now she'd proven it again. She looked at him with so much hatred but he knew. It wasn't for him. She was beating herself, tearing herself down for letting this happen, blaming herself, but he couldn't move and he was still muzzled so he did his best to show her with his eyes how proud he was. She was a survivor and she had to know that. He loved her and she had to know that. She was strong. She had to know that. But she didn't, because they'd beat it out of her. They'd told her she was weak so many times that it actually happened because when you out anything even stone under that much pressure it gives. They wanted her to be weak. Because strong wasn't malleable or pliant. Strong wasn't moldable. But weak was perfect and rebuilding from scratch made the perfect little agents.

But the one thing that wasn't in her eyes that day, even as she choked and sobbed with pain, was submission. There was defiance and anger and hatred and blame but there was no surrender. No weakness. And the next time he woke up drenched in sweat and shaking all over, she was there. Already in his arms and ready to reassure him. He couldn't help it, he remembered feeling so close and so intimate with her that surely they had to have been together right? Not just friends? But he wanted to do it and he wanted to feel her, to know that she was okay and that they hadn't broken her, so he kissed her as fiercely as he could just to prove to himself but she was there.

She kissed him back and tangled a hand in his hair and didn't stop until he could breathe again. And she smoothed his hair and traced patterns on his skin and let his hand settle over the scar so he could feel her stomach rise and fall with every breath and she coaxed him through it. When he did finally collapse back beside her, thank you didn't seem good enough. There were no words for how grateful he was or how proud or how fucking relieved that she was okay after all this time. So he settled for the closest he could get.

"I love you." She didn't panic or push him away though. She kissed his forehead with a smile and whispered back:

"I love you too." And it felt small and normal and practiced like they'd said it a thousand times. He couldn't remember if that was true but it felt true so he acted like it was and she didn't correct him. She cuddled into him and held him just as loosely as he held her, making sure her arms could never ever feel like restraints and that her touch could never feel scientific or calculating. She pressed her lips gently to his chest, just over his heart.

"I've missed you, James." He didn't know what to say to that so he just kissed her temple a readjusted his palm on the scar but she smiled and didn't seem to expect anything from him in return. He couldn't say that he'd missed her because he hadn't remembered her-he still wasn't sure that he did. But he could say that, for the first time in years, he felt like he was warm again. He could say she scared the nightmares away. He could say that every moment he spent lying there with her skin against his own felt like a kind of heaven he didn't deserve. But he settled for kissing the top of her head and letting them both drift off to sleep.

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Thanks for reading! Please review?


	2. Chapter 2

They were very careful. Bucky didn't trust Stark not to spy on them so he only let himself reach for her or touch her in her room which, he figured, she'd already cleared. Tony didn't dare try to spy on Nat, so they were safe. If anyone noticed the shift between them, it went unmentioned, and the only person who no longer seemed afraid of the Winter Soldier was Clint. He'd even invited Bucky out to the sniper range with him.

But, while they were extremely careful with their relationship, Natasha was less so with the scar. Maybe he'd just been dramatic before, but the closer they got the less protective she became of the angry, red mark. No one touched it, still, because they'd been trained not to. She didn't go out of her way to dodge or hide it, though, and didn't hesitate to change in front of them or swim. One by one, they all saw it.

Clint was first. Bucky had no doubt that Natasha had purposely waited until it was just them and the archer before pulling off her shirt to reveal her bikini. She slipped soundlessly into the water, but Bucky was watching Clint. The man's eyes were grey, but they watched Natasha almost unconsciously as she moved and he could see the scrutiny there. He wasn't ogling her, he was looking for injuries. For any hint that she wasn't as okay as she insisted she was. Bucky watched his eyes drift lower, immediately pulled to the red mark. He didn't stiffen, didn't gasp, didn't even seem to react. If Bucky hadn't known him well enough to see the little tick of curiosity in his face, he would have thought Clint had missed it somehow.

But, since Clint went well, Bucky knew she would move to whoever was next on her list. Bruce, it turned out, was either her next planned victim or just the next most convenient target because he was the one who got roped into helping them. Tony had thrown Dum-E in the pool in frustration, leaving them to get him out, but he was too heavy for just Natasha. Bucky was more than content to stay on the sidelines, away from the water. Even if Natasha was comfortable in this experiment, he was not going to let each member of the team see the scars that attached the metal arm or that littered his back from beatings. If she wanted to stand their scrutiny, good for her. But he wasn't subjecting himself to it just to join her.

So, he observed Bruce as he watched the man catch sight of the scar. He stiffened. For a moment, the veins in his neck pulsed a little too fast and Bucky thought he might go full hulk on them. But, he took deep breaths, and acted as if nothing was different. Interesting. None of them questioned her, or even indicated that they'd seen it-though maybe that was why she'd chosen them as her guinea pigs?

She didn't even bother with Tony. Bucky suspected that she knew Tony had cameras everywhere and that Friday had already informed him. If she hadn't already threatened him not to ask, then she could rest easy in the fact that he hadn't pushed her for an explanation so far. It was Steve who she'd been saving for last and, honestly he couldn't blame her. He hadn't let Steve see him without a shirt yet for the exact same reason he hid black eyes and bruises from the blonde as kids. Steve loved-hard-and he could never just accept that bad things happened. Especially not to people he cared about.

But, Natasha did it. He wouldn't have been surprised if she backed out because he wasn't even the one doing it and he was scared shitless. She did it, though, and made sure all of them were there with her. Normally, when they journeyed down to the pool, she stayed with Bucky by the side and merely watched the others but, this time, she stripped with them. As expected, Clint and Bruce merely glanced and looked away. Tony didn't even look, confirming that he already knew, but Steve…

Steve stared. Natasha pretended not to notice but Bucky openly observed them all so he didn't bother looking away from Steve's face. He still wasn't quite used to that chiselled face or broad jaw, but he knew those baby blue eyes very well and he recognized immediately when they darkened. Steve was upset-clearly. His whole face gradually fell into confusion and hurt, but he just stared at Natasha's lower back.

"Nat?" Even his voice was choked. She turned, but neither her nor Bucky were surprised to see that Steve was the one who was affected by it. They'd known he would be, which was why he was saved for last. She turned, though, with a smile as if nothing was wrong, and threw the ball. It hit Steve's chest and fell, untouched.

"Something wrong, Cap?" But Steve ignored Clint, ignored the hint to drop it and move on. He stared, clearly hurt though Natasha wasn't.

"Who hit you?" Natasha turned again, slightly less smiley. Steve wasn't taking the hint and, while Bucky could have guessed it would turn into an issue, Natasha was still less than amused.

"Which time?" Steve stiffened, but was undeterred.

"The handprint on your back." Natasha's smile disappeared. She cocked her head to one side, dangerously, like a cat sizing up its prey, but Bucky knew that look. Quickly, he stood and moved to the edge of the pool, both so he could observe and so he was close enough to stop Natasha if he needed to. She was on edge, now, watching Steve like a predator. Steve didn't sense the danger.

"Natasha, who did that to you?" But she wasn't really listening anymore, and Bucky could see that. Her shoulders were back and her feet were planted, even under the water, so that she could lunge at him or run the second she felt the need to. Bucky could almost feel her heart beating faster and faster the longer Steve looked at her. Steve didn't realize but that pitying look was very easily turned into fire under their skin and his concern was even faster to ignite. After so long, him caring felt fake. No one else had ever meant it-they didn't understand, and couldn't-so why would Steve not just be fucking with them?

"Tal…" He didn't go as far as to call her Talya, knowing that would give too much, but she jolted a bit regardless. She didn't shake the tension, though. Bucky moved closer. He could feel the entire group, even Tony's AI, watching them and cataloguing every movement, every breath, and it felt horribly scientific. Like cold blades and steel tables. Like leather restraints and muzzles. He didn't even think as he watched her face twist how bad this idea was because he couldn't see anything but her fear. Couldn't focus on anything but her expression. So, without blinking, he slid down into the pool fully clothed.

It spoke volumes about the current situation that he didn't even draw eyes. They were all so focused on Natasha that the sight of him, fully dressed, moving in the water wasn't even worth looking. She stiffened, feeling the ripple through the water, but he just moved closer. He tried to take some of the pressure off, drawing some of the eyes onto him, but it didn't work. Bruce and Clint and Tony were all clearly curious and, now that Steve was bold-or stupid-enough to push her they wanted to know just as badly. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Drop it, Steven." But Steve didn't drop it. He just stared at Natasha, pleading her with his eyes, begging her to tell him who'd hurt her so he could do something about it. Bucky knew her. He knew every curve of her body, every dip of his skin, and he knew exactly what she looked like just before striking. Poised, like a ballerina, the epitome of grace and dignity and calm. Too calm. He could feel the tension in her muscles and he could see her starting to panic. She was bouncing back and forth between fighting or running and Bucky, of all people, knew that she almost always chose the fight. Always.

"Talya…" She heard him, but it didn't make a dent in the fire he could see crawling on her skin. She felt like a specimen, like a widow, and the longer Steve looked at her the more she could convince herself that none of them actually cared. They were just curious, not worried. Interested, if anything, in her weaknesses so they could exploit them. He didn't know what to do because the nicknames weren't working and he couldn't just touch her when she was like this but he needed to get the eyes off of her before she snapped and he just…

Did it.

Something compelled him, but he couldn't have named it if he tried. He reached and pulled his own shirt over his head. Immediately, every set of eyes went to him. They seared into his scars and burned into his skin, taking in the gnarled flesh that met metal and the countless whip marks on his back. But they weren't looking at her.

She breathed, finally, and he felt the tension seep out of her into the air, grabbing for any little crook or cranny in his body it could latch onto. He stiffened, but refused to panic. Not when she was here, not when he knew her and trusted her. She watched him, too, but it was with something like awe rather than disgust or horror and he didn't mind her eyes on his flesh. She'd seen the scars a hundred times, she wasn't looking at them. She was looking at him. Just him.

" _James_." He was too focused on breathing, though, and making sure he didn't turn this into an even worse situation by slipping into a full blown panic attack. She stepped back, though, and closer to him. He could feel Bruce and Tony scrutinizing him with that scientific edge. They saw injuries, history, mapped out on his skin in a way that they could decode as if he was just another experiment. Clint looked at him with something like disappointment. But Steve…

Again, Steve was the worst. There was a very good reason Bucky hadn't let him see the scars and that reason was staring him in the face. Warm, baby blue eyes welled with tears. Steve looked so fucking shattered by the mere sight of him that Bucky almost gagged. This was Steve. Steve Rogers, the skinny little blond from Brooklyn who always had so much fight in him. So much love, for anyone and everyone who would let him care. To watch that love fade into disgust and revulsion was quite possibly the worst thing Bucky could ever imagine. It was his nightmare, his hell. And here it was, staring right back at him. Steve didn't even seem to recognize him and damn if that wasn't fucking familiar in all the wrong ways.

" _James._ " He was stopped, instantly, by a touch. In any other circumstance, it would have made him seize and defend himself but it didn't. Because it was a warm, gentle touch from raised, welted skin. A scar. And it fit his hand perfectly, even as the metal shifted and realigned into place. He breathed.

"Something wrong, Steve?" His own voice felt foreign as it hit his ears but it was there and it was stronger than he felt. There was so much steel in those words that Steve flinched. Had Bucky not been still teetering on the edge of a panic attack, he would have felt bad but, as it was, he was just glad they'd backed off.

"No, not at all." The blond sounded less than convinced and, if anything, more worried about them but Natasha was scary on her own. Bucky knew he was scary too-he'd been told so-but together? Together they were the most deadly Soviet assassins to ever surface and everyone, especially Steve, knew it. He backed off, scared.

"I'm… gonna go make lunch." Quickly, Steve dismissed himself and disappeared into the elevator. They stood there, together, like a silent challenge to anyone else who wanted to press for information. Tony and Bruce both mumbled about an experiment and drifted away, though slightly less fearfully than Steve. Clint stayed. When they continued to look at him, he just shrugged.

"I'm not gonna ask, if that's what you're waiting for." Natasha accepted that and moved away but Bucky didn't quite believe him. It seemed too good to be true.

"Why not?" Clint flashed him a little smile and went for the ball as Natasha got set up on the other side of the net.

"One, because it's none of my business." He tossed the ball but didn't let his smile fade. "And two, there are much more interesting things to talk about-like your choice to wear black jeans in a chlorinated pool." Bucky looked to Natasha, confused as to why that would matter, but she just rolled her eyes and threw him the ball.

"He's fine, James. Don't be the reason we lose this match." He set the ball and Clint dived, complaining all the while that he was only one person against two of them.

"Stupid Soviet reflexes!" Natasha laughed. Her voice was suddenly free of tension and her relaxing let him relax. They'd won, he realized, while he was zoning out. And if Clint was anything, he was a sore loser and, suddenly, their biggest problem was dealing with the archer's fractured ego. It was worth it, though. As Clint stormed off to pout about unfair rules and double-teaming him, Natasha turned to him. She slid easily into his arms, pressing her face into his soaked chest, but she smiled and shifted so his palm fit over the scar again.

"Missed you, James." He realized, then, that she didn't mean him as much as the security. Someone having her back, someone protecting and shielding her when she was so used to defending herself. She leaned into him and sighed deeply. Like, finally, she could relax. And he remembered that feeling, of her chest sinking from her exhale and her muscles finally relaxing into him. He _knew_ that feeling. Knew her.

"Missed you too, Talya."


End file.
